


White Washed

by sheiksleopardthong



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 06:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2458025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheiksleopardthong/pseuds/sheiksleopardthong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Even heroes know when to be scared."</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Washed

**Author's Note:**

> The summary was the prompt for this fic - it was taken from a story prompt thread on Reddit.  
> I recommend listening to "Save Your Scissors" by City in Colour while reading this - it was the inspiration for the drabble.  
> I've also never written an ATLA fic before so please tell me what you think!

"Alright soldiers, that's it for today. You're dismissed."

The tight huddle of children disperses quickly; short, unbalanced legs running to their homes without a glance back to their teacher.

Sokka prefers 'general', but he isn't as strict about correcting the boys anymore. He sits back on the snowbank behind him and finds that it doesn't have a solid core like he'd thought. His butt sinks into the fluffy seat all the way to the bottom, compacting until he's stuck in the snow, legs and arms stretched towards the sky like the few plants he's seen on his farther excursions from the South Pole.

The sounds of his pupils die off as they settle into their igloos for dinner, and Sokka looks at the clear, cloudless sky outlined above them.

His monkeysealskin parka is waterproof, yet he feels a chill creep through his skin and muscles, creeping slowly towards his bones. Sokka sets his teeth and attempts to push it back, joints locked as he refuses to shiver. His vision wavers and a rough sickness melts from his stomach up into his chest. The young man digs his blunt nails into his palm and his teeth into the tip of his tongue.

He remembers, against his will, every other moment like this one. Every other moment he's forced himself to stare straight ahead and pull his shoulders back.

Sokka wonders if being a man was this hard for his dad.

He shakes his head. His dad's still being a man, wherever he is. More of one than Sokka, even. Hadoka is out fighting the Fire Nation, while his son hasn't ever left the Southern Water Tribe. He barely even has a village to defend anymore, as if the Fire Nation would ever come back. They've taken all of the waterbenders already. At least, that's what they think.

His jaw locks again and Sokka closes his eyes fiercely, fighting back a growl. Sokka doubts it would actually be a growl, if it were to escape; in fact he can hear the broken whimper of his cracked voice choking back a sob without making any noise at all. He's not very good at being a man.

If the Fire Nation comes back he doesn't know if he would be able to convince Katara not to bend. They're too similar, he thinks. His own war paint and weapons wait above his bed, ready to defend his home in any way he can, even up against fire bending adults. His dumb little sister would surely try to do the same thing. No matter how many times he told her to stop bending, still she tried to learn. Gran Gran wasn't any help, either. It was almost like they wanted Katara to be captured. Just like their mother.

Sokka wishes the snow would melt enough for him to escape. He wants to go for a walk. He thinks better when he's moving.

He's heard the elders talking lately, about how it's been too quiet for too long, and it worries him. If any of the little kids were waterbenders, the Fire Nation would be back soon to take them. And there's no way for them to know without checking.

The ocean's been awfully quiet, too.

"Sokka? Sokka where are you?"

The familiar voice becomes closer as it continues calling for him. He tries to sink further into the snowbank, breathing to steady his pounding chest.

"There you are," Katara's face obstructs the sky, an amused grin splitting her face. "How long have you been stick in there?"

"Not long," he grumbles, wiggling a bit. "I'm waiting to melt out."

Katara steps back and then the snow shifts to the side slowly as she digs her older brother out. Finally Sokka stands, brushing himself off and grumbling in what Katara knows to take as an apology.

"C'mon dummy, dinner's ready. We have to rest up tonight for our hunting trip tomorrow."

"Right," he agrees, following his sister home.

There's no wind, and the hair on Sokka's neck stands on end.


End file.
